Lead the Way
by the0voice0from0above
Summary: AU. Steve's a support worker at a mental health hospital, The Shield. He has a good rapport with Bucky, a nonverbal patient suffering from personality disorder and acute psychosis. Sometimes Steve is the only one who can calm him down.


_AN: I've used the british mental health care system (so technically this is set in england, I guess, but you can't tell) just because i have no idea what american mental health care is like. i also have no idea what i'm talking about so. . .don't expect accuracy. _

* * *

><p>Steve's sleeping heavily enough that when his phone buzzes to life on his bedside table he's confused, and for a moment, thinks a bee has found its way into his bedroom and is bobbing around his head. His hand wafts automatically and the action wakes him.<p>

Blinking up at the ceiling, Steve's eyes slide to the blinding light of his phone screen, illuminating a section of the room in a halo of blue. He grabs it. The clock reads: _04:13AM_.

"Hello?" he says in the process of a jaw-cracking yawn.

"Sorry for the late call, Steve, but you're needed."

There's a racket going on in the background, raised voices, banging, the screech of an alarm. His brain hasn't quite caught up to what's happening. Steve frowns and rubs the fuzziness from his eyes. "What?"

"We need you at the hospital," says the voice.

"Natasha?"

"Jesus. Are you always this dumb in the morning? We need you here, now. Bucky's kicking off. He's raising hell on the unit, and its affecting the other patients."

_That _wakes him up. He rolls out of bed. "I'm on my way."

"Hurry," she replies, and the phone clicks off.

The Shield private care mental health hospital is tucked well out of the way of the public, far out of town, hidden at the bottom of a country lane, surrounded by woodland and farmers' fields. In the height of summer the smell of cow manure gets so strong that the staff have to keep all the windows closed on the units, and combat the sweltering heat with battery powered fans and will power. Luckily, it's autumn, and in the place of cow manure there's the crisp scent of fallen leaves. A few crunch under his feet as he climbs off his bike and heads up the grey stone steps to reception.

Bucky must have the whole hospital on alert because a peek through the window tells him no one is manning the front desk.

He uses his fob to get in, making sure the door closes with a click behind him. There's only one door at the end of reception, and then a single corridor that forks off to separate units and the floors above them. Altogether at Shield there are seven units containing seventy beds, but at the moment only sixty-eight are filled. One of those beds belongs to James Buchanan Barnes, also known as "Bucky."

In May 2012, Bucky was referred to the Shield hospital with personality disorder, acute psychosis and a range of triggers that each member of staff, including Steve, had to learn before they could interact with him.

Because Steve enjoys his job and likes to do the best that he can, he makes it a point to memorise every single patient's fears and triggers to make their and his life easier so it wasn't a problem for him. For other staff, not so much. It's the one and only reason they have problems with Bucky.

Although his forensic history is vast and shocking with an emphasis on explosive (often unexpected) violence, Bucky isn't nearly as bad as some staff make him out to be. If anything he's misunderstood. Bucky has never raped anyone, kidnapped anyone, hurt anyone maliciously. His actions are dictated by fear and for whatever reason Steve isn't aware of, he _understands_ Bucky. Maybe it was that which gave Steve an instant connection with him, his empathy.

"Oh, thank god, Steve!" exclaims a harried nurse. She hurries towards him as he strides closer to her. She's part of the night staff and Steve doesn't know her name, but apparently she knows his.

"What happened?"

They push through a pair of double doors and take the stairs two at a time. The little slip of a nurse beside him keeps pace easily. Steve can feel the adrenaline rolling off her, and he's riding a bit of it himself.

"Bucky had a nightmare and a newbie came up on his left and touched his arm."

Steve bites back a curse. "Didn't anybody give them Bucky's psychiatric report?"

"We gave her the info, but she must have forgotten."

"Where is she now?" questions Steve.

"Still unconscious."

They exchange a look.

"Alive," she clarifies, "just unconscious."

"Where were Bucky's support workers? He's been on four to one over the past month."

"Greg's off sick, and Malcolm's on holiday, so Phil and Mike are covering. They've never handled Bucky before, but we all figured Jake and Pete would be enough."

"Phil Grant? He isn't MAYBO trained."

"As of last week he is."

He stares at her in astonishment. "A support worker with a _week's_ worth of MAYBO experience was placed with _Bucky_?"

She bites her lip. "We're short staffed."

Natasha is waiting for him when he arrives on Bucky's unit. As usual she is the picture of calm, unlike the team of care and support workers dashing about behind her. The unit is in shambles. Patients are shouting, throwing verbal abuse, lashing out aggressively; it looks like every available staff member is up here.

"About time," says Natasha, uncrossing her arms and turning away. She expects Steve to follow and he does just that.

"Where's Bucky?"

"Right now he's in his room. Doubt it'll stay that way though."

Steve ducks a flying coffee mug. There's a patient being restrained and another rocking on the floor with a nurse sitting beside him.

"I'll warn you now," Natasha says, "this is the worst I've ever seen him."

Steve studies her profile. "You don't think he'll respond to me."

"No," she says simply. Natasha doesn't pull punches. "Don't get me wrong, no one can deny the relationship you've got with him but his time. . ."

They turn the corner and Steve's stomach does its usual flip flop when he sees Bucky. Bucky hasn't Steve yet though. He's standing shirtless, clearly in attack mode, and glaring at the five support workers surrounding him.

As far as following procedure goes, the support workers are doing everything right. Their palms are up and open, voices calm and stance strong. The only problem is, this is Bucky and Bucky is unique in every way.

Steve knows immediately when he's about to lash out. He sees the way Bucky's muscles in his back tense up, a quick twitch of flesh, and Steve yells, "Duck!"

The support worker in front of him drops just as Bucky roundhouse kicks the spot he would have been standing in. Realising he's missed, Bucky prepares to kick again only the other four staff members rush up behind him. Bucky throws the first off his back, he kicks the second in the groin and the third might have a cracked rib if the sound Bucky's foot connecting with the support worker's chest is anything to go by.

"Stop!" says Natasha when they prepare to move in again. "Steve's here."

All four back off immediately, except the worker on the floor, who manfully crawls out of the way of Bucky's stomping feet.

Steve strides across the room. He gives Bucky a wide berth, coming up on his _right_ hand side. As he does, Bucky's eyes flit to Steve. There's a flicker of surprise, which Steve reads as, "it's not your shift" and then pained anger, which Steve understands as, "I'm flooded with memories, make them stop!"

Bucky breathes out harshly. His eyebrows are drawn up just as tense as the rest of his body. He looks awfully tired, and Steve's heart clenches. All Bucky wants to do is sleep.

"Hey," says Steve, keeping his distance. "I can see you're upset and angry. Why don't we sit down for a bit, huh?"

Bucky's mouth twists. His face contorts and he yells. There're no words. It's just noise to get Steve to back off. He stays where he is. To their credit, Natasha and the support workers, who had retreated to watch from the hallway, don't flinch despite Bucky's roar being loud enough hurt Steve's ears.

From there Bucky proceeds to destroy his room and his belongings, smashing everything in sight and screaming at the top of his lungs.

Steve doesn't move an inch.

Bucky must realise what he's doing is futile because he suddenly stops. He's breathing heavy and glaring at Steve. His beautiful blue eyes are bloodshot, clouded with a crippling amount of fear and pain. Steve doesn't know what happened in Bucky's past—his history beyond the criminal records is unknown—but sometimes he thinks he can guess just from the look in his eyes.

"Come on, Buck. Come sit with me," says Steve.

Bucky continues to glare.

"I'll stay with you. You won't be alone tonight. I'll stay here."

Bucky blinks, his eyes flit away and back again, and Steve withholds a sigh of relief.

"I'll stay here," Steve repeats. "You won't be alone."

He watches Bucky unclench his jaw and Steve's teeth hurt from imagining the amount of pressure Bucky must have been putting on them.

Steve backs up to Bucky's bed. Carefully, he gauges Bucky's reaction as he sits down onto it, sinking into the mess of quilt and wool covers. Bucky likes to nest, hide away from the world. His bed is very much his own, and Steve doubts anyone else would be able to sit where he's sitting right now. It's a mark of their relationship that the only reaction Bucky has to it is a few fast blinks.

With his feet, Steve kicks his shoes off. He rolls onto Bucky's bed and lies down on his mound of pillows, facing Bucky.

The support workers glance at Natasha like they're worried Steve is about to get gutted. Admittedly it is a risk. Steve has only lain on Bucky's bed once before and although nothing bad had happened it wasn't an entirely successful experiment—Bucky had left the room.

This time, however, Bucky stays, watching him with sleepy eyes. Steve knows he wants to sleep. He's desperate for it. He's just too afraid.

There's a switch above the bed, near Steve's head. He flicks it and the room is doused in darkness. Natasha and the support workers are silhouetted in the light coming from the hallway.

Bucky's silhouette is still in darkness. Steve can make out his shape but he can't see his face or his eyes.

Minutes pass.

Half an hour.

An hour. It feels extravagantly longer than that but the digital clock on the wall of Bucky's bedroom tells him only sixty minutes have passed.

Bucky jerks suddenly and Steve's terrified he's going to kick off again. But he doesn't, he moves towards the bed. He stops at the edge of it, pauses, then climbs onto it. Steve's heart is crashing into his rib cage. Bucky doesn't seem at all aware of it though as he selects the green wool blanket tangled at Steve's feet and pulls it over the both of them, lying down beside Steve.

Now that he's closer, Steve can see his face. Bucky's eyes are on his, they stay like that for a long time until eventually, Bucky dips his head and curls his body closer to Steve. They don't touch, bar the tickle of Bucky's dark hair on Steve's chin, and they don't make a sound, except for the tiny, exhausted sigh that Bucky expels.

It's the best thank you that Steve's going to get and it's all he needs.


End file.
